Mens Rea
by MDemagogue
Summary: Police officer Sam Evans stumbles onto a murder involving Senate candidate Finn Hudson.  Hudson, a prominent homophobe is forced to rely on Kurt Hummel as his reluctant defense attorney.  Rated M for violent content, language.  Sam/Kurt
1. Believe Half of What You See

A/N: Inspired by this little ditty. **Prompt Two**: Sam is a cop and Kurt is an attorney. Should take place in the big city of your choice. Kurt used to be a high-powered corporate lawyer, but he found it spiritually unfulfilling and quit to become a public defender, but he still has enough cash from his big money-making days and good investments to live a fairly posh lifestyle. Sam is a hardworking, blue collar guy - he can be closeted or not, but it would probably add an extra layer of interesting tension if he is. He probably has a really cute dog that he loves. Kurt takes on a case - the details are up to you - and Sam is one of the key witnesses for the prosecution. For some reason Finn is the defendant/client in my mind but this isn't at all imperative. You can use Glee characters to fill out the other necessary roles (judge, district attorney, ADA, bailiff, etc.). Sam shouldn't be knowingly in the wrong - he is being tricked or manipulated in some way as to what he thinks he saw or he thinks happened, and eventually finds out the truth about what really went down and why Kurt's client is really innocent (after he has already testified to what he had believed happened, which should be an extremely intense scene between Kurt and Sam, with their obvious mutual attraction a crackling undercurrent to what is already the extremely tense interaction between a witness and opposing counsel during direct examination). I'm imagining Karofsky as the crooked cop (or district attorney) here - the real bad guy in this story. The rest of the details of the case and the outcome are up to you, but obviously Kurt and Sam should fall in love along the way, with as MUCH dramatic tension and UST and conflict as you can squeeze in.

Other stuff. Sam is 29. Born in 1982, 19 at the time of the 9/11 attacks. Sam served in the army from 2001-2004, he joined the police force in 2006. Kurt is 32. Finn is 37. I picked Omaha as the setting because that's where I'm from. Warnings for character death.

Mens Rea

Chapter 1: Believe Half What You See

SamPOV

It was an uneventful early February morning in Omaha, Nebraska. My partner, Noah Puckerman, was out sick, so I was out and about alone on patrol. There wasn't much to do. The cold kept the criminals off the streets, and the bums in the shelters. I was in my squad car not enjoying a bad cup of coffee I got at the gas station when the call came in.

"Evans, we got a report of screams coming from the Penthouse Suite at the Doubletree Hotel on 16th and Dodge."

Fumbling with the radio mic, I acknowledged the situation. "I'm five minutes away. Over and out."

I set the bad coffee in it's holder and gunned the engine. Turning on the siren I flew down the streets of Omaha toward my destination.

I made my way inside the lobby, greeting the harried desk clerk, his nametag read Mark.

"Officer Evans, responding the distress call. Where is the penthouse suite located?"

"Top floor sir. I've got a keycard, if you want me to accompany." Mark replied.

"That won't be necessary, the situation could be dangerous."

Mark handed over the keycard and I made my way to the elevator, taking it to the top floor. The penthouse suite was clearly labeled, but I couldn't hear anything. I radioed for backup, and slid the keycard in the door. The light flashed green, and I opened the door into a foyer. I knocked again on the door, which I assumed led into the room proper, identifying myself. I got no answer, so I drew my gun and opened that door.

I've had the displeasure of going into a murder scene more times than I'd care to, in my 6 years on the force. After awhile, you can sort of get detached to it, but you never really get used to it. The victim was a female with dark hair. Multiple stab wounds.

I flicked on my two way and spoke into it. "Evans here. Requesting backup. Victim deceased, female, late 20's. Multiple stab wounds." Blood everywhere too.

There was another form on the bed. His dress shirt was unbuttoned and covered in blood. I walked over to him, mindful to avoid stepping in the blood of the victim on the floor.

"Possible second victim. Male." I spoke into the radio.

The rise and fall of his chest confirmed that he was still alive. There was no blood coming from him as a result of those breaths. He stunk of scotch, and there was an empty fifth, along with two empties of champagne on the coffee table. The crackling of my radio caused him to stir. His eyes slowly opened.

I recognized him. Finn Hudson. Former Quarterback for the Nebraska Cornhuskers. Heisman trophy winner. Presumptive Republican Senate nominee to take on Ben Nelson. Shoo in for that spot. Nebraskans' love college football. They also hate same sex marriage, or any other rights for gay people in general. Finn Hudson was certainly no different in that respect.

Memories came back, unbidden, toward the surface. I knew Finn Hudson from our time in the service together. I had joined the national guard after September 11th. I was 19 at the time, and had spent the year since my graduation taking classes at the community college. I didn't really have a fixed purpose or sense of direction.

At the time, I was involved with a guy who I had went to high school with. Jesse St. James. He was charismatic. He was like the sun. I was Icarus. I vaguely had a notion of going to New York with him, once I had scraped up some money.

Finn was a sergeant in the guard when he wasn't doing sports commentary for KFAB. He was our platoon commander. A couple of months later, we were on our way to Afghanistan. The initial success of the war there along with the successful establishment of the Karzai government gave a sense of optimism to the Bush administration, I guess, so they thought it would be a good idea to invade Iraq. Jesse and I maintained communications by letter, as he thought it was more romantic.

I got leave before going to Iraq, and I used it to visit New York. The city had an energy about it that was really something. I wasn't attuned to it though, so I felt like a fish out of water. Jesse had become more sophisticated, and discouraged me from talking about Omaha when he would let me hang out with his friends that he had made. He seemed uneasy at my presence there. It was probably because neither of were sure where I fit in the orbit of the people surrounding him.

We were initially successful at taking the regime down, but an insurgency developed quite rapidly around us. Tensions began to rise in the unit. In the summer of 2004, I received a letter from Jesse. It was written while he was back in Omaha for a spell. The envelope was addressed to me, but the letter inside wasn't. Dearest Blaine, it started off. It ended with him quoting "A drinking song" by Yeats.

I opened my footlocker, getting out the letters I had received from him. I made my way over to the fire where the company incinerated its trash. That's where Finn found me, methodically incinerating the first relationship I had been in. He saw the florid signature that Jesse liked to use, and deduced that Jesse wasn't a girl. I had been lying about it to people here.

I looked over at him. "Does it matter to you. Are you gonna report me?"

"As long as you're not a weak link in the unit, it doesn't matter."

Life went on. The insurgency dragged on. Their tactics evolved. Casualties mounted. We were on patrol in Karbala when I got shot by a sniper. I was manning the machine gun on top of one of the humvees in our convoy at the time. A bullet slammed into my arm. The convoy sped up, in response to the gunfire, and they ran into the IED that the insurgents had planted for just that purpose. It took out the head vehicle in the convoy, and the second one, which Hudson was in, swerved to avoid the wreckage, flipping over in the process.

The rest of the unit managed to get the guys from the wrecked humvee out. We hightailed it back to base, where they operated on my arm. It wasn't a big deal, it was a through and through, so it just left an impressive scar.

Hudson's knee was much worse though. It was a war ending injury, something which he resented.

So, while I was in the hospital, Colonel Schuester came by for a visit. Hudson had reported me to Major Goolsby, who kicked it up the line to the Colonel. My war was over too. Goolsby wanted me dishonorably discharged, but Schuester decided against that. He didn't want the negative press, or the possibility of me fighting it. Frankly, I was too tired from everything by that point to even bother.

I got back to the states in time to see Bush win a second term by getting a whole slew of states to put measures on the ballot defining marriage to exclude me. My uniform wasn't the only thing that went into the closet.

"Who the fuuuck are you?" He slurred out, throwing the blanket off of him. Bloody shirt, tighty whities (didn't need to see those, thank you), blood on his hands, and a bloody knife to boot. Case closed. He seemed oblivious to all of the above.

I pointed my gun at him. I was hoping that he would rush me. It would give me the satisfaction of shooting him. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to put down the knife."

He looked down at it, and he sobered up real quick. "Evans? What the fuck? Who's blood is this?" He looked over at the dead girl. "Rachel?"

Hell, I could shoot him right now. I'd be placed on administrative leave for a few weeks, paid. I could say that he rushed me with a bloody knife in his hand. I could blame him for getting me kicked out of the military. He obviously blamed me for his injury.

Killing in the heat of battle is forgivable. You're usually firing from cover, like behind a wall, with your gun being the only thing visible. They're usually firing from cover, from within a building, for instance. You can, and everyone does, delude themselves into thinking that it's not their bullet that did it. It's not their bullets that killed a guy who was playing at war. It's not their bullets that struck a bystander who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

If I shot him right now, I would know.

He was still holding the knife. "I'm going to ask you again to put the knife down."

The knife fell and landed on the carpet. Finn stammered. "I-I-I know. . .know what this looks like, but I swear. . . I swear I didn't do this."

The evidence certainly pointed to the contrary. Two more officers came in at this point. Mike Chang and Matt Rutherford.

"Oh wow." Matt said.

Mike was speaking into the radio. "Get crime lab down here, along with a photographer for the crime scene. Gotta preserve the scene."

I still had my gun trained on Finn. "Sir, I think the best thing to do would be to take you in for questioning."

"Can I put on some pants?"

"Sure." I said, going over to the dresser and fishing a pair of tuxedo pants out. I searched the pockets, making sure there wasn't anything dangerous, and tossed them over to him. He put them on wordlessly.

"Ok, turn around, hands behind your back." He followed my orders. I got out my handcuffs and placed him in them. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights as they have been read to you?"

"Yes." Finn said, his voice breaking. "Oh Jesus!"

"Chang, Rutherford, could you escort him back to the station? This is my crime scene."

"Sure thing, Evans." Mike said.

I holstered my firearm. Looks like Baxter wasn't going to get his morning walk. It was going to be a long morning.


	2. I Bet You're Wondering How I Knew

A/N: So here's chapter 2 of Mens Rea. Introducing Kurt Hummel, defense attorney. Warnings for really really tasteless jokes, homophobia. I don't condone it, just setting up for characterization. Chapter titles taken from the song "Heard it Through the Grapevine" as performed by Marvin Gaye and others.

Mens Rea

Chapter 2: I Bet You're Wondering How I Knew

KurtPOV

"You hate me don't you?" I asked of my boss, Sue Sylvester. That was the only explanation for why this file was on my desk. The Monday morning shit show.

"Actually, Porcelain, I don't. Or, rather, I don't uniquely hate you more than I hate anyone else." Her and her nicknames. I really wasn't in the mood to hear this. "Satan knew the victim, and she's the only other party I'd trust to handle this case."

I stared at the file in front of me, willing it to go away. Alternatively, I wanted to will myself back in time. Maybe I could jerk the wheel of my navigator into a ditch perhaps? Nope, still here.

"How long before I have to be in court?"

"Hudson's arraignment is scheduled for 10am."

"Wow, you really do love me. Normally I've got like 15 minutes to prepare to attempt to adequately represent a client. Today, I have half an hour."

"More like 29 minutes. Karofsky had car trouble this morning, or something. It was originally scheduled for 9:30."

"Well darn. Maybe I'll offer to look at his car after the hearing. Score some brownie points with the prosecution."

"I'm pretty sure that violates legal ethics."

"Oxymoron."

* * *

><p>Realistically though, there wasn't much in the file that I needed. Jacob Ben Israel, reporter for the Omaha World Herald had given the mess front page coverage, as befitted Hudson's status as a star Quarterback during the Osborne era of excellence in Nebraska Football, as well as his marriage to Quinn Fabray, daughter of Russell Fabray who was one of the top 5 people at Berkshire Hathaway. Berkshire's chain of command went Warren Buffett, Charlie Munger, and then a couple of other people. Russell Fabray was somewhere in that mix. Lastly, Hudson's status as the presumptive Republican nominee for the US Senate race coming up in November certainly didn't hurt. It also helped that Ben Israel subscribed to the notion that "if it bleeds, it leads".<p>

Father in law wanted himself a US Senator, and Finn fit the mold. Tall, dark, and handsome, and. . . not exactly bright. LBJ once said of Gerald Ford that he played football too much without a helmet. That said, he was the only one declared for the primary coming up in May, and he was a lock. In the general election, he'd certainly defeat Ben Nelson. Nelson was the most conservative Democrat in the Senate. He had to be, to win here after all. Nelson's sin was being the 60th vote for "Obamacare". The only way Hudson would lose is if you found a dead girl or a live boy in the hotel room.

Victim was one Rachel Berry. She was 28, and an activist for the ACLU here. Her father, LeRoy Berry was the head of the ABA in Nebraska. Her other father, Hiram, was an architect for a firm here. I figured that the combination of those three things was enough to terrify every defense attorney in town into sending calls from Russell Fabray into their voicemails, never to be heard again. Or daddy had yanked his support. Certainly not for the catting around.

Arresting officer was a police officer named Sam Evans. I chuckled a little, reading the report. Not very often the term "Tighty whities" is crossed out and replaced with "underwear". "Suspect appeared disoriented, and smelled heavily of scotch. Empty bottles appear to support that. Suspect was wearing a shirt covered in blood that appeared to belong to the victim. He was holding the knife in his hand." Was it possible that Finn Hudson was this stupid?

* * *

><p>Regrettably, yes it was. I went to a Berkshire share holders meeting the previous May. I saw and heard him from a distance with Fabray and Karofsky and a couple of other people making small talk. It turned to blue humor rather quickly, judging by scotch and sodas they were drinking. One of the jokes in particular stood out for it's lack of taste.<p>

Hudson said, "What does one fag say to the other fag going on vacation? Want me to pack your shit?"

Russ Fabray laughed till he was red in the face, tears of mirth streaming down his cheeks. Karofsky smiled lightly, but it didn't reach his eyes. Someone didn't share their frat boy sense of humor. The other two laughed politely.

"That's my boy!" Fabray said, slapping Hudson on the back. Hudson stiffened up and smiled widely, seemingly proud that he had bonded with his father in law.

That was just one incident. What seemed to be the catalyst for his Senate campaign was New York States' decision to legalize gay marriage. He went on AM radio the next day to deliver the standard denunciation of homosexuality that was, sadly, standard for the Republican party these days. He cribbed from Rick Santorum's speeches comparing same sex conduct to pedophilia, and bestiality, and capped it off with that old yarn about how God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.

I had my work cut out for me. Loathsome politics aside, this seemed like an open and shut case. Had Ms. Berry been killed the year before, we could have mounted a Mens Rea defense based on the fact that Hudson was not in control of his own actions. The Unicameral had passed a law that didn't allow that though.

So, it was plead guilty, hopefully reducing it to 2nd degree. Twenty five to life without parole was theoretically preferable to the death penalty. All that would come during the trial. This hearing was just to attempt to get him bailed out.

I'd have to talk to the crime lab and get confirmation that the blood was in fact that of the victims, and attempt to figure out where to start punching holes in what appeared to be an airtight case, assuming Hudson decided to go to trial.

Amongst other things.

I closed the file, placing it in my satchel and made my way over to the courthouse. I showed my credentials to the guard, and sailed through the scanners.

The judge wasn't in the court room yet, but Karofsky and Hudson were there. Members of the press were as well.

Hudson leaned over to talk in a low voice to Karofsky. "Got a joke for you Dave. Four homos are sitting in a hot tub, when they notice some jizz rising to the surface. One of them asks, who farted?"

Karofsky responded, "I've got one for you Finn. What do you call a homo in an expensive business suit?"

"What?"

Karofsky inclined his head slightly. Finn turned and looked at me.

"Your defense attorney."


	3. Took me by Surprise

A/N: This story has snapped me out of my writing funk. I reworked chapter 1 to add some back story that would have came out later, but it felt more proper to include it in the first chapter. Feel free to read and review. If you think I'm doing horribly, I want to know. If you want to see something, let me know. Kurt expresses some unpleasant sentiments about the criminal justice system in this chapter, in a fairly blunt manner. If there are inaccuracies with the legal process as depicted, try to bear with me. I'm certainly more than happy to attempt to correct those. It is what it is. There's more of the bigotry that graced the second chapter. I don't condone it. Also, creepy quasi/actual sexual harassment.

I don't own Glee. If I did, Steve Carell and Amy Ryan would coach it as Michael Scott and Holly Flax. I think they'd probably do a better job of it than Will Schuester. Speaking of, my Season 7 DVDs of the Office arrived today, so I may not get a whole lot of writing done this week. For that matter, the week after, Season 3 of Glee starts and I'll be too busy crying over Chord Overstreet as Sam Evans being gone.

Mens Rea

Chapter 3: Took me by Surprise

FinnPOV

"Your defense attorney." Dave smiled brightly at me as he sunk the barb in.

I looked back at the guy who was going to be representing me. A momentary flash of anger in his eyes indicated that he had picked up on our exchange. A momentary flash of anger indicated that he had gotten over it a long time ago.

Alright. Time to back pedal. Turn on the charm. He stood over me, and I looked up at him.

"Move over."

Not exactly what I was expecting to hear. "Hmm?"

"That seat's for me. I get to leave the courthouse when we're done here, you get to go back to jail."

Not what I wanted to hear. "Listen. . . man, I'm sorry. . ."

"Yes, you're sorry that I heard. More specifically, you're sorry that I heard, and I'm in a position where I can do something about it."

Pretty much. "Russell didn't hire you did he?"

"No. You didn't have a lawyer, and this is a capital case, so I'm here."

"Capital case?"

"Means the death penalty."

"What?"

"Oh, but don't worry. You're white, relatively young, and come from a decent background. Now, if you were black, or Hispanic, especially if you didn't speak English too good, you'd be much more likely to get the death penalty."

"You don't actually believe that do you?"

"I do."

"That's just. . . not fair."

We were interrupted by a guy in uniform announcing that court was in session.

"All rise, for the honorable Judge Jones."

As my attorney rose, he hissed in my ear, "That means you."

No shit. I was in the process, but my bad knee was aching something fierce. I decided to keep my head down and not respond to him, as I stood at attention, bracing my weight against the table in hopes that I could keep standing long enough. I was clearheaded, because I hadn't had anything to drink, which meant that the pain wasn't behind a haze, it was up in my face.

Judge Jones was a black woman, mid 40's, friendly face with hair starting to go gracefully grey. She smiled at my attorney before saying, "Please be seated." That was a good thing. . . I hoped.

Her voice resounded quite strongly in the room. "Today we are here in the matter of the People vs. Finn Hudson. The charge is Murder in the first degree. Does the defendant wish to enter a plea at this time?"

"Not Guilty, your honor." I said, speaking up before my attorney could say something stupid, like pleading guilty.

"The defendant enters a plea of not guilty." Judge Jones intoned. "Now onto the matter of bail. Does the prosecutor have a recommendation?"

Dave stood up. "Given Mr. Hudson's standing in the community and lack of a prior record, I recommend bail to be set at $250,000."

Judge Jones had a puzzled expression on her face. "Mr. Karofsky, this is a capital case. It's highly irregular to even issue a bond."

I guess it's not what you know, but who you know after all. Karofsky responded, "I'm aware that the circumstances are unusual. I think that it's best that Mr. Hudson be released on bond so as to assist in his defense."

"I see what he's doing." My attorney said to himself in a quiet whisper.

The judge looked over at us. "Mr. Hummel, do you have any objections?" So that was his name.

"No, your honor, we don't."

"Then it is so ordered. If you are released on bail, Mr. Hudson, you will be required to surrender your passport to the court and not leave the state."

I was dreading the phone call to my wife. Well. . .I could just have my defender make the call. I'd use my phone call to try Russell. . . again. "I accept, your honor."

"Alright. Until such time as bail can be produced on your behalf, you will be remanded to the Douglas County Correctional Facility. The trial will start on April the 9th. You're dismissed."

Turn on the charm. "Um. . . Mr. Hummel?"

"Yes?"

"I only get one call per day there, and I think it best that I call my father in law. He's the campaign chair for my candidacy, and he would be able to bail me out. Do you think you could call my wife, Quinn?"

He sighed. "Well, I can see why, given the circumstances, that you wouldn't want to call your wife. Write down her number, and I'll call her once I get back to my office."

I wrote the number down on his legal pad, which had a doodle of a figure labeled Karofsky in a guillotine with the caption of "Vive la Republique".

I went with the guards and they took me to the waiting vehicle to drive me back to my cell.

When I got back, I requested my phone call. I used it to call Russ, at work. He picked up on the fourth ring.

"Russell. This is Finn."

"Yeah, yeah, sorry I didn't answer you over the weekend. I was busy calling every good defense attorney in Omaha. Between those two fags, they've got people running scared. That and the ACLU would probably be screaming bloody murder."

"Anyway, my public defender got bail for me."

"No he didn't. Your public defender didn't do shit. I also called Karofsky. How much?"

"$250,000."

"That'll piss Leroy Berry off. Well, if we can get you out with 10% cash, that wouldn't be bad. Called my daughter yet?"

"No."

"Man up and deal with her. I'll see what I can do about getting the cash. Probably take it out of the senate account."

I nodded. "Yeah, that's what I was thinking."

"Yeah. Probably going to have to figure out what to do with the campaign. But we can talk about that later. I've got to get going. Meetings, you know."

The phone clicked, signaling that the call was over. "Goodbye." I said into the receiver.

* * *

><p>KurtPOV<p>

The courtroom cleared quickly, reporters going outside to wait and try to bombard us with questions. I put my legal pad with my artwork into my satchel. Karofsky wanted to throw me off my game, which was why he was giving Hudson the chance to work closely with me on his defense.

Naturally Karofsky timed things so that we would be walking out together. A hand landed on my shoulder, and hot breath fanned into my ear. "I'm looking forward to spending the next few weeks with you, Kurt."

"I'm looking forward to getting my teeth drilled Dave." I chimed out.

"It's not your teeth I was thinking about drilling Kurt."

"No, I leave that to my dentist."

"Oh the possibilities that raises."

"Ok. Karofsky. You're not my type. You're the wrong party, you're a decade older than I am, and your pick up lines are frightening at best. Not only that, it would be a breach of legal ethics to sleep with the district attorney. Keep it up, and you'll find yourself in Jacob Ben Israel's column."

His demeanor changed on a dime. He was all smiles now. "Alright. Feel free to send any requests for information to my office. Let's go face our adoring public."

We walked to the door. He held it open, gentleman that he was, and we walked out into a small scrum of press.

"Mr. Hummel, Mr. Karofsky, any statements!" Jacob Ben Israel's nasal voice piercing the din as usual.

I stepped forward, digging my elbow into Dave's side in the process. He groaned heavily. I hoped it was pain. "The only statement I'll be making is that I will defend my client to the best of my ability. Mr. Hudson and I look forward to our day in court. Thank you members of the press."

I walked out, feeling the blast of the cold February air hit me full force. Our offices were a block away, so I walked up Farnam Street. A woman, fadingly pretty followed, cigarette smoke trailing in the air.

She caught up to me. "If you're from one of the alternative weeklies, they know that it's my policy not to give interviews."

She pitched the cigarette, a small hissing noise emerging as it hit some melted snow. "Hardly. Quinn Fabray-Hudson." She held out her hand, which I shook.

"Ah. You know those things will give you lung cancer."

"I own stock in Altria."

"Me too. I'm sure you didn't come down to your husband's hearing to discuss stock tips with me."

"Not at all, Mr. Hummel. It's 10 degrees outside though, perhaps we should take our business inside."

I held the door open, letting her through. "By all means."

We went upstairs to the suite of offices that the public defenders office had on the second floor. I took her coat and put it on the rack. "Want some coffee?"

"Please. Black, one sugar."

I went out, got two mismatched mugs from the break area and poured it out. I doctored mine heavily with cream and sugar, and went back to my office.

I handed Quinn her cup. "I'm glad you came in. It saves me a phone call."

She took a sip of her coffee, setting the cup down. "Was there anything else outside of Ben Israel's 5 page spread in the Sunday edition?"

His spread was biographical information, for the most part. Along with some details gleaned from the Police Department spokesperson about the nature of the crime. Nothing specific, as of yet, because there wasn't much to report. "Not really."

Time to start digging. "He's in pain isn't he? He could barely stand today in the courtroom."

"War injury, coupled with a lousy orthopedic surgeon at Walter Reed."

"I'm sorry to hear that. My father had to deal with knee pain from an injury back in his college days until last year. A friend of mine operated on him. We ran a half marathon a few months ago, so it went rather well. Obviously, each case is different. I could recommend a consult?"

"Sure. He's afraid of doctors though."

"Understandable. He's medicating himself with liquor and pills from the available evidence. That only works up to a point, and frankly, I'm going to need all the help I can get with this case. Which means a clear mind on his part. So he'll have to deal with it."

"What's the doctor's name?"

"Artie Abrams. He's down at Creighton Medical Center."

She sighed. "I suppose Dr. Abrams can't perform surgery in jail can he?"

"I doubt it. And, I think it would be for the best that he assist with the defense. He seems bent on mounting one, and if we retrace the events of the evening, he might be able to recall something. I honestly don't know how effective that will be, given the self medication issue, but. . ."

"It's better than nothing, yeah?"

"That's pretty much it, Mrs. Hudson. We have nothing to go on. The circumstantial evidence is overpowering, and he's placed at the scene by a police officer. The odds don't look good."

She nodded her head. "His strategy is fairly obvious. Play the drunk off his ass angle to the jury, he blacked out and killed her in a drunken rage. It's what anyone with half a brain would do."

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Alright. You're probably wondering why I'm still married to him."

I took a drink of my coffee. "The question had occurred to me. You seem like a fairly smart woman with a good head on her shoulders."

"I love him. Not the person he is, but the person he was. The guy who would try to cook your favorite meal only to start a fire in the kitchen. The world's worst dancer. He's many things, to many people. A good many of those qualities are awful. I can't imagine what it's like for you, having to defend him. He's not a killer though."

She was in love with him. I got out my card and wrote Artie's number on the back of it. "Alright. Here's my card if you have any questions. Dr. Abrams' number is on the back, tell him that Kurt recommended a consult and he'll fit you in."

She took the card. "Thank you, Mr. Hummel. I have to go down to the bank and see what we have available as far as assets are concerned. A debate coach and a radio personality don't exactly make the most money on the planet, unfortunately."

Quinn made her way out of the office. I looked over the information we had in the file. There wasn't much to do as far as investigative work was concerned.

I picked up the phone and dialed the central police headquarters. "Central police station, this is Terri, how can I direct your call?"

"Terri, this is Kurt Hummel with the public defenders office. Officer Sam Evans was the arresting officer on the Hudson case, and I needed to speak with him about the events of last Saturday morning. Is he available."

"I think he works nights this week. I could transfer you to the voicemail that he has though?"

"That'd be great, thanks Terri."

The line clicked over and dialed the voicemail box. A friendly voice rang out. "Hello, this is Officer Sam Evans. I'm not here right now, please leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Have a great day." The answering machine beeped over.

"Officer Evans, this is Kurt Hummel. I'm the Public Defender that has been assigned to the Hudson case which you were the arresting officer on. I was wondering if we could go over the details of the report at a time of your choosing. Maybe over lunch this week?"


	4. You Know That a Man Ain't Sposed to Cry

A/N: It's my birthday today. On a Monday no less. Still on a writing kick, and that's good for everyone! I can't guarantee how long this will last, but while it does. . . I'm kind of liking my Quinn so far. For the sake of clarity. Finn is arrested on Saturday February 11, 2012. They have the initial hearing on Monday the 13th. Finn meets Kurt then, Kurt meets Quinn then, Kurt calls Sam then, and Quinn bails Finn out then.

The first interaction between Kurt and Sam occurs this chapter. Next chapter will be them interacting. Let the UST begin. Let me know how I'm doing.

Mens Rea

Chapter 4: You Know That a Man Ain't Supposed to Cry

QuinnPOV February 13, 2011 (Monday afternoon)

Russell was hedging his bets, as he usually did. My husband was still on the ballot, but Russell was definitely in talks with the Nebraska GOP to figure out what to do. Karofsky wasn't doing us any favors by fast tracking the trial. It gave Finn irrational hope that the trial could be resolved and he could coast to victory. It also gave Karofsky a bigger profile. He had cash on hand from his re-election in 2010 to the DA's office. He was getting free press from the case coverage as well. Which was why I bailed my husband out of jail.

We didn't have a ton of money. Mortgage, car payments, health insurance, two kids, and you get the picture. I cashed out most of our 401k to make bail. It had taken a battering over the past couple of years, just like most people's, if they were fortunate enough to have one.

There he was. They were wheeling him out in a goddamn wheelchair. His knee had been bad for awhile, but it had gotten much worse since he slipped on some ice outside our house while getting the mail back in December. The pain had gone up, and his ability to cope with it had gone down. Since he was afraid of doctors, Russ got one of his doctor friends at his country club to write a prescription for him. At least there wasn't anyone from the press down here.

At home, we had a set of crutches for Finn to use to get up the stairs, when he wasn't self-medicating. When he was self medicating, he was usually too shit faced to get up the damn stairs. I had been spending quite a few nights alone.

* * *

><p>I knew that I wasn't as pretty as I used to be. Twelve years of coaching debate translated into twelve years of pouring over evidence for the latest topic. Helping my kids understand the arguments. Helping them to craft them. Traveling with them to tournaments. Commiserating in their disappointments. Celebrating their victories. More than occasionally being surprised by their depth of understanding. Sometimes being exasperated at their lack of understanding. Twelve years of budget battles. Twelve years of being separated from my kids for almost every weekend between November and April. I wasn't as pretty as I used to be.<p>

Here I was, dealing with my husband being accused of murder. I should be preparing my debaters for a tournament this weekend. The topic for this year was "Resolved: The United States Federal Government should promote gay marriages." Lovely, isn't it? The wife of a prominent homophobe reading the evidence that refuted the validity of his stance on gay marriage.

I had an idea that had been cooking for this topic since the start of the year. My team and I had meticulously wrote a case that adhered to an interpretation of the topic. There was just some fine tuning that needed to be done, and we would be ready for the National Forensic League's national qualifying tournament next week. Instead, my husband was found half naked, covered in the blood of a Jewish girl who was a decade younger than me.

"I'm sorry about all of this Quinn." He said, looking up at me.

"I'm sure you weren't when you were sticking it to her." Yeah, I was going to lord that over him for a moment or two.

"I didn't kill her."

"The evidence, on first glance, seems to contradict that. There's plenty to talk about though, we can do that on the drive home." I got behind his chair, and began wheeling him out to our car. He braced himself against the frame and gingerly slid inside the passenger seat. I pushed their chair back to the station, leaving it inside the lobby. Walking back out, I fished out my lighter, and got out my pack of Marlboro lights. I lit one, and took a drag, as I walked down from the jail back to the car. I was tempted to smoke inside the car, but I refrained and let Finn wait inside the car while I finished my cigarette.

I pitched it and got in. "Do you have to smoke around me?"

"Do you have to cheat on me?"

That shut him up.

"We need to figure out this situation, Finn."

"What does that mean? Do you think I did it?"

"No."

"But?"

Sigh. I turned the key and started driving. I flicked on the radio and kept it on low volume. "You have a trial in 2 months. Even if it gets over fast, that gives you a couple weeks between the end of the trial and the primary. After that, you've still got the general election to go through. On top of that, there's the issue of your knee. You can barely walk. If you continue self medicating you'll be too soused to actually campaign and it's a disaster waiting to happen."

He stared at me. "Well, what's your plan? Spit it out."

This is it. "If you end your senate campaign, the money just sits there. It can be donated to the party, or you can make a maximum contribution to candidates of $2000. That goes up to $5000 if Russell and you turn it into a PAC. I'm your wife. That means I could use the money in the campaign. Stand in for you."

"What if I say no?"

"Alright, you stay on the ballot. Some State Senator from the Western part of the state jumps in. Hell, someone from Omaha might jump in. He or she, probably a he runs a shoe string campaign criticizing your infidelity to me, not to mention the horrid press you're getting from being found covered in the blood of a dead girl. You have to use most of your money blanketing the airwaves against some fucker from ass scratch Nebraska. You narrowly win, or narrowly lose the primary. Either way, you're probably fucked come the general election. Especially if you're convicted Finn."

I continued. "Not to mention the issue of your knee. Your public defender had a reasonable recommendation that I think merits following up on."

He sighed. "What'd he have to say to you?"

"He suggested seeing a friend of his who's an orthopedic surgeon. Apparently he successfully operated on his father who had a knee injury left over from the war." A small lie. Mr. Hummel hadn't specified the nature of the injury. "They ran a half marathon together last year, so I guess this doc knows what he's doing."

He snorted. "Well. It also has the advantage of getting me out of the way until the trial. And, you get what you want too. You never wanted to be the wife of a politician. You never wanted any of this."

Pretty much. "Russell wouldn't have heard it. We both know that if you had went to DC, the family would have came with. I would have been the person writing your speeches, you would have been the unhappy bastard sitting in committee meetings every day pretending to listen to testimony that didn't interest you in the least. This way, I get to do all of that, and you get to do what makes you happy."

"So, where do we go from here?"

"We get your knee operated on so you can throw a baseball around with your son once the snow thaws. We push my candidacy to the Douglas County GOP meeting on Wednesday. Lastly, we fight this indictment with every fiber of our beings." That was lacking in tact.

Finn didn't notice. "What about Russell?"

I dismissed him with a wave of my hand. "Fuck him. He could choose not to support our (my) bid with additional cash. The money he and his friends have given is a sunk cost. I don't plan on giving them any reason to doubt my viability. Beyond that, I don't see him backing another candidate."

I pulled into the driveway of our house. I got out of the car first, and went around to the trunk. I opened it, and got out his crutches. I went around to his side, and helped him out of the car. He supported himself on his crutches as we made our way inside.

Finn collapsed into his chair, propping his leg up on the ottoman. "I can't keep doing this." he said, wiping the sweat that had beaded on his brow just from that short walk. "Call that damn doctor and schedule the meeting. At this point, if they decide to lose the fucking leg I'd be happy."

I brought him a glass of water with a couple of aspirin. I wasn't giving him any pills until we met with the doctor and figured out a plan. "Here. I'll call the doctor, you should call Russell and go over what we talked about. If he wants to talk to me, let him. Otherwise, we'll see him at the party meeting on Wednesday."

He took the glass and swallowed both aspirin. "I reckon there'll be a lot to talk about either way."

I went to the office that we shared and began making my calls.

* * *

><p>SamPOV (Monday night-Tuesday morning) 1314 February, 2012

"Ok, Baxter, put it down." He shook his head. "Put it down." I tried a more firm voice. Still nothing. "Fine." I grabbed the ball from his mouth and threw it again. Of course, he brought it back for another go around. "Gotta take you outside before I go to work." I said, fixing his leash to his collar.

Baxter was my 8 year old Beagle. I got him after I came back from Iraq, at the recommendation of a therapist that I saw. Dr. Pierce thought it would be a good idea for me not to be alone. I was. My brother and sister still lived at home with mom and dad, and I didn't want to move back in. I didn't have a significant other, and I didn't see that changing anytime soon. I was stressed out, and unsure of my place in the world. The VA set me up with her as my psychiatrist.

Dr. Brittany Pierce was. . . unconventional. At our first meeting, I was wearing a shirt with the Superman logo on it. This prompted a 30 minute discussion about deleted scenes in comic books. She wondered why it was that comic books never showed characters going to the bathroom. "Everybody poops right?"

She got me to open up. Over our next few sessions, we talked about random stuff. Why there weren't flying cars yet, my hopes for the new Batman movie, etc. For the first 9 months I avoided talking about anything having to do with the circumstances surrounding my discharge. We talked about Sin City, and a ton of other movies. We talked about the Office, and the brilliance of Steve Carell. We talked about her cat, Lord Tubbington. She showed me pictures. I talked about my siblings, Stacy and Stevie, and showed her pictures.

Finally, she talked about seeing a trailer for Brokeback Mountain. She said that she was looking forward to seeing it with her partner. That's when the tears started to flow. She knew. She knew that I had been holding this all in, for all this time.

I went and saw it. I bought a ticket for another movie that started at the same time to see it, but I saw it. There were all sorts of people in the theater. Couples, other people who were in the closet like me who probably bought a ticket to Aeon Flux which started a few minutes after it.

It was a sad movie. However, it left me wanting what those couples, both straight, and gay had. Somebody to love. Somebody to fall asleep with, to wake up with, to cuddle on the couch with while watching a movie. I had no idea where to look.

* * *

><p>The online stuff was a disaster. Most of the pictures on some of the sites left nothing to the imagination. Talk about laying all your cards on the table. It also didn't appear that anyone was looking for a relationship either. When there was someone who was remotely interesting and didn't just post a picture of their cock, inevitably they thought I was a fake. Or kept the pic I sent, (of my abs, of course) without replying. My abs became the picture that many an internet douche would post as their pic to get replies. Lord. I guess I should be flattered.<p>

Next stop was the clubs. I was in good shape. I didn't dress in the latest fashions, or style my hair with product. I was rarely without a person to dance with though. When it came to actual conversation though, there wasn't much to be had. The community was shallow, obsessed with appearance, and into drugs. The kicker was that the ones I talked with couldn't care less about Star Wars III: Revenge of the Sith.

I voiced these concerns to B, and she suggested that if I needed companionship, the best bet would be a cat. I told her I was allergic, so she suggested a dog instead. That's how Baxter found me.

There were moments where I would have a wave of emotions go through me. Regrets over how things ended with Jesse. My inability to find anyone. My parents desire to see me have grandkids. Getting outed in the military. The tears would spill over, and Baxter would be there, licking my face, making me laugh through the tears. Best damn investment I ever made.

Brittany and I still kept in touch, getting coffee, or lunch once every few weeks. I resigned myself to being alone for the time being, at least until I could find Mr. Right.

We went out in the back yard where Baxter obligingly lifted his leg a couple of times. It was balls freezing cold outside, of course, so he hurried. Thank God.

We went back inside, and I released him from his leash. He ambled about the house before settling in front of the stairs.

I stepped over him, climbing the stairs. I approached one of the doors that was shut. I knocked. "Yeah Sam?"

I walked inside. "Stevie, I'm gonna head to work. Could you take Baxter out again before you call it a night?"

He was looking over materials for the MCAT. He was a junior at Creighton, on the Pre-med track. "Sure, Sam. I'll probably be up late looking over this stuff."

"When's the test?"

"March 10th."

"You'll be fine."

He looked up from his book. "What about your classes?" I was a part time student at UNO, taking evening classes. Art and criminal justice stuff.

"We have a guest lecturer coming in from the Innocence Project in a couple of weeks to talk about why we should coddle criminals and not execute them."

Stevie rolled his eyes at me. "Might be good to get some perspective."

I let him have the last word, as I went to my room to get dressed. I got my police uniform out of the closet, and put it on. I went over to the small gun safe in my room and turned the combination. I pulled out my gun and holster, and put those on too.

I went downstairs. Baxter got up and let me pet him. I opened the door, and went outside to my car. It was a 2002 Ford Taurus. Nothing extravagant, and it had seen better days. I started it up and drove to work.

I lived on the North side of Dodge right off of 35th street. It was a working class neighborhood, close to Creighton. During the school year, many of the houses were filled with students going there. Stevie chose to live with me because it was close to the university, and he could save money doing so. Creighton was private, and tuition was pricey, but going there for undergrad was an in for getting into med school there.

* * *

><p>I made it into work with a few minutes to spare. Puckerman was back. "Hey. Good to see you back. Feeling better?"<p>

"Yeah I am. Weekend thing, you know."

"If it were 75 out, I'd accuse you of playing hooky, but its not, so you're probably on the level."

"Yeah. Chang said he's hosting a poker game Saturday afternoon if you're interested."

"Want me to invite my brother?" Bastard was the luckiest little shit on the face of the planet.

"Hell no. That little fuck took $50 off me by hitting a goddamn 4 on the river."

I laughed a little at that. "Chang and Rutherford like him."

It was his turn to laugh. "Matt and Mike are trying to corrupt him. Eventually they think he'll break down and go to Vegas with them for a weekend."

"Lord. I'm going to check my inbox."

I went over there. For once, there was a message. It read: Kurt Hummel, defense attorney Hudson case wants to talk with you at your convenience. It listed his number, and address. Heart, Terri.

"Heart, Terri. She's not bad lookin'." Matt said, looking over my shoulder at the note.

"Oh, hey Matt. Hudson down at the jail?"

"Nah, his wife bailed him out this afternoon."

"The fuck?"

"I guess the defense attorney's a miracle worker."

I recognized the address from previous interactions with the defenders office. "He's a public defender man."

"Wings of Angels, dude. Fuck if I know."

I shrugged. "Well, now I'm curious."

"Well, call him when you get off."

I clocked in and went back over to Puck, who had the keys for our squad car. Of course he'd want to drive. We went out to our car and I buckled myself in, and we began combing the mean streets of Omaha.

Relatively uneventful night. It was a Monday, so everyone had let off steam during the weekend. No major sports events either.

"How's your Grandma doing, Puck?" She was like 95 and in the process of being moved into hospice.

"Mom's taking it rather hard. The bills are stressing her out. Medicare only covers so much."

I could sympathize. He wouldn't hear of it though. Before I had the chance to mumble some platitude a call came in on the radio. "Motorist reported a one man accident, car hit a light pole on 45th and Center street."

Puck got the hand set, "We'll go check it out."

He drove us there. The car was a wreck, and the guy was in there. His door wouldn't open. Puck broke the window on the car and got the guy out through it. He was unconscious and bleeding from a head wound.

"Smells like my old man on payday. Call fire and rescue and a tow truck."

I went back to the car and got on the radio. "Evans here, requesting Fire and Rescue. We'll need a tow truck too to take the vehicle."

The dispatcher responded, "Over and out."

We waited at the scene until they arrived. They would be able to blood test him at the hospital to confirm our theory that he was soused.

They arrived, and we left. "So, the Hudson case, huh?"

"Yeah. Found him covered in blood, holding a bloody knife."

"World's dumbest criminal eh?"

"Pretty much."

"How'd it feel, arresting him? Not every day a cop gets a collar like that."

"It was just routine." I wasn't going to think about the hesitation I had. I didn't want to think about our history together. I certainly didn't want to think about my dark thoughts of shooting him and claiming self defense. Maybe I should schedule a session with Brittany.

The rest of the night was calm and uneventful. We made our way back to the station and Puck parked the car. We got out, and he turned the keys in at the front desk. I got out my phone and called the cell number that was left on there. He picked up on the first ring.

"Kurt Hummel speaking."

His voice, through the phone was breathy. Maybe he had finished his morning exercising or something. "Hi, Mr. Hummel. This is Officer Sam Evans. You called me yesterday about the Hudson case."

"Oh! Yeah! Umm. . . I actually have some extra time this morning, because my 9am is in the hospital. His wife called me, apparently he got into an accident after the bars closed. So I have some extra time if you want to grab breakfast, perhaps?"

On cue, my stomach rumbled. "Sure, do you know where Lisa's Radial Cafe is?"

His voice sang out again. "Of course! On 40th."

I smiled to myself. "What time would you want to meet there?"

"It's 7:32 now. I need to shower and get dressed for the day. How about 8:30?"

"Sure."

"Excellent. I'll see you then, Officer Evans."

"Sam, you can call me Sam."

"Only if you call me Kurt."

"Alright, Kurt. I'll see you in an hour."

"Sounds great. See you then."

I ended the call. I walked out of the station with a smile on my face. Perhaps he'd be my Valentine?


	5. About Your Plans

A/N: Chapter 5 is here. I've been under the weather for awhile, so I haven't been writing as much as I usually would. My lungs are atrocious and I get these bouts with bronchitis that leave me struggling for breath at times. In addition, I've been suffering from writers block. The castle alluded to does exist, and you can see it here,

http:/ www. Joslyncastle. com/ (remove the spaces)

On a further note, I can't promise any kind of consistency in my updating. Part and parcel of being ill, and having a life. I run a consulting business where I do technical writing to pay the bills so. . . there's times where I just don't want to write in my free time. I'm going to try to be better about updating though, because I know that there is some interest in this story and some of my other works. Feel free to review, I do try to reply to each one, and I do value your input.

Some smut in this chapter. Kink, non con/dubious consent fantasy. If that's not your cup of tea, skip the Sam part. He's got a dirty mind.

Lastly, self insert in this chapter. The character is relatively unimportant to the larger narrative of the story, and he'll just be in this chapter and the next one I think. It is what it is.

This chapter is for gleefulmusings, jono74656, Dasher, Grace, and all the members of the canoe and you the reader.

Mens Rea

Chapter 5: About Your Plans

KurtPOV (Tuesday morning February 14th, 2012)

I was running late. I didn't have the case file with me, and I figured that might be important when meeting with the star witness. So, that meant driving from my condo in Midtown Crossing down to the office, and back up to Lisa's on 40th. Not a bad drive, but kind of a pain to do in the morning rush hour. Finding a place to park downtown is always a bitch, and this morning was no exception. I ran up to my office, and grabbed the case file off my desk and ducked out.

I got back to my Navigator and backed out, heading west. Farnam street, thankfully, was one of the one way streets downtown that headed west, so there was no need to go east a few blocks, turn on to a north south street and head north a couple of blocks to find a one way that headed west from downtown. Small mercy.

I got up to 40th, too many red lights later, and made a right. Going down 40th, I found myself driving by the castle, it's grounds and some of the trees covered in snow, creating a magical sort of effect. A small smile graced my face as I recalled a friend's wedding that had occurred there the previous spring. I wouldn't be getting married there anytime soon.

I parked right by the cathedral, and walked a block down to Lisa's. I stepped inside, and scanned around for Officer Evans. I waded through the fairly busy restaurant and found him near the back. At least, I inferred that he was Officer Evans based on the fact that he was in uniform, by himself with a second menu waiting.

"Officer Evans?" I said to him.

He looked up at me. Warm green eyes, dark blond hair, pouty lips. Stunning. "You must be Mr. Hummel?" He said tentatively, moistening his lips in the process.

"The one and only." I said a little grandly, extending my hand out, which he reached up and clasped.

I took my seat, taking a sip out of the water glass that was there. I reached for a menu, glancing over it. I knew what I was going to order though.

The waitress came over and inquired as to what I would like to order. "Could I have coffee, and the killer cakes?"

"Sure thing."

She left, weaving her way through the crowded room. "Sorry I was late. I forgot that I didn't have the case file with me and I had to go downtown to get it and come back up here. . ."

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "It's ok." he said, taking a drink of his orange juice.

I opened the file and glanced over it. "Would you mind walking me through the events of last Saturday morning?"

Sam set down his glass. "Yeah. I got a transmission over the radio about a quarter after 5 in the morning indicating that someone had heard screaming in the penthouse suite at the Double Tree hotel downtown. I was a few minutes away, so I responded. I went up there, found the young woman dead, and Hudson on the bed covered in her blood."

That pretty much matched the report. Time to dig in. "You didn't find that odd? He kills her, and decides to lie down for a nap?"

He snorted. "It's entirely possible, given the empty bottles at the scene that he killed her in a drunken stupor, started screaming and blacked out."

I pursed my lips together. "That rapidly?"

"I dunno. The doctor in the family is my little brother." He said with a touch of pride in his voice.

Change subjects, give me some time to think. "Oh, what's his name?"

He smiled. "His name's Stevie. He's a junior at Creighton."

"Spiffy. I'm class of '02 and '05. Did my undergrad and J. D. there. I would have went out of state, but there were issues to be dealt with."

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

It was my turn to shrug. "Personal matters."

He took another drink of his O. J. and signaled for a refill. "Fair enough. We all have those."

The waitress came, and got his cup. I let her refill my coffee while she was at it. I wondered what his "personal matters" were.

The waitress returned with our plates and his O. J. Officer Evans had ordered a breakfast sandwich. I doused my two huge pancakes with a liberal amount of syrup and dug in.

Our conversation slowed down as we ate. We were both efficient eaters, and were done with very little fanfare. "So, how did you and my client know each other?"

"Beg your pardon?"

"It says here in the report that you filed that Hudson woke up, and finding himself covered in blood, looked at you and identified you. Seems like a weird coincidence yeah?"

He frowned. "We served together in the National Guard in Afghanistan and Iraq."

"When was that?"

"2001-2004."

"Any interaction after that?"

"None that I'm aware of."

"So, he recognized you after over 7 years. You must have had quite an impact."

He shifted in his seat. "Must've been my impressions." He said, with a hollow chuckle.

I doubted that. "I'll have to ask Hudson about those."

Sam managed a weak smile, before launching into a impression of Sean Connery. "Losers always whine about their best, winners go home and screw the prom queen."

It was a good impression. There was something else though. It wasn't a happy memory if his methodical, but nervous shredding of his napkin was any indication. His experience with Hudson may have biased him, but he didn't know that it was Hudson until he had woken up. It was irrelevant to my investigation of the case. I decided to file their relationship away in my mind.

"That's good. The Rock right?"

"Yeah."

"The Marine general in that movie shares my last name, Hummel."

"Oh, that's cool!" Sam enthused.

I signaled to our waitress that we were good to go for the check. She brought it over and placed it, face down on the table. I picked it up, waving Sam away in the process.

"I've got it."

"Thanks."

I waved my hand dismissively. I fished out one of my business cards and handed it to him. "This has my number on it in case you think of anything that might not be on the report."

He took it, and used one of the pieces of napkin to write his number down. "Not quite a business card, but here's mine in case you come up with any other questions, or want to hear more of my impressions." He grinned as he said that.

I found myself smiling back at him despite myself. He was, after all the probable star witness for the prosecution. We were supposed to be adversaries.

"It was nice meeting you Officer Evans." I said, extending my hand again.

"Sam. And likewise, Mr. Hummel." He said, taking it.

"Kurt." I replied, as we disengaged. I made my way to the counter, and he made his way out of the restaurant. The cashier made change, which I left for the waitress. I made my way out, and back to the office.

SamPOV

Holy shit. I was aching in my uniform pants. I adjusted myself discreetly before I made my way out of the restaurant. I passed Kurt on the way out, as he was paying for us. I didn't reckon he'd think about me returning the favor. I wanted to, for the first time in a long time.

It was his voice, mannerisms, the way he carried himself. He was confident, assertive, and when he started asking questions of me, it was just . . . hot. I could imagine him grilling a person on the stand, maybe even losing his cool. I imagined him grilling me on the stand. I groaned softly as I put my car into drive.

I could imagine him doing other things too. It was a 5 minute drive from the restaurant to my house. Today it felt like it was taking an hour.

Stevie's car was gone, thank God. I unlocked the front door and let myself in. Baxter was on the couch and he looked up at me. He didn't make a beeline for the door, so Stevie must have let him out. Bless him.

I kicked my shoes off and made my way up the stairs two at a time, whilst unbuttoning my uniform. I let my pants pool on the floor, shrugging out of my shirt.

I sat down on my bed, fluffing the pillow as I laid back. My cock was half hard, and I palmed it slowly while conjuring up a proper fantasy. I stripped off my undershirt and boxers as my minds eye conjured up the perfect fantasy to lose myself in.

_We were in a room together, Kurt and I. We were wearing military dress, though his uniform was slightly different in both style and coloration than my own, which was in tatters._

_Kurt was speaking to one of the other soldiers in the room with us. "So this is the rebel commander that you captured. . . Very good. Leave us." The soldier left the room, locking the door from the outside._

_Kurt turned towards me. "You should know that escape is impossible. There are no windows, and if you happen to overpower me, the guards will discover that and shoot you on sight. Do you understand?"_

_It was as expected. "Yes."_

"_Yes?"_

_I didn't know what he was looking for. "I understand."_

"_Well, that's strike one, now isn't it? You are my prisoner, that makes me your superior. You should know to address me as sir." Kurt said in a somewhat menacing tone._

"_I'm sorry, sir. I understand sir." I said, opting to exercise discretion._

"_Alright. You're still at strike one though. What's your name?"_

"_Jake Sullivan."_

"_Strike two. Every soldier we capture gives some variation of that answer. Jake Sullivan, Jacob Sullivan, Jake Sully. Jocelyn Sullivan if they're female. Logically there can't be that many people named Jake Sullivan."_

_I frowned, moistening my lips nervously. The relatively cool environment in the room/cell was causing me to break out in goosebumps. My chest was partially exposed and my left nipple was exposed. It was stiff due to the cold as well._

"_Oh well. Your real name doesn't matter yet. I'll get it out of you eventually. Are you carrying any weapons?"_

"_No. No, sir." I quickly added._

"_I guess I'll just have to check that." Kurt said as he moved toward me._

_He spun me around so that I was facing the wall and began to administer a pat down on me. It wasn't a standard pat down, that's for sure. His hands glided up and down my legs, massaging the flesh. He reached into the back of my pants, cupping my ass and squeezing the flesh roughly, forcing a startled hiss out of me. The hands slid lower, brushing my inner thighs. It wasn't an unwelcome sensation. His hands were talented. _

_His hands continued their exploration of my body, untucking my shirt from my pants and sliding up my abdomen and massaging my chest. His fingers, circling my nipples elicited a heavy moan from me. My cock was fully hard by this point, forming a bulge in my tattered pants._

_Kurt spun me around again, and looked down. "Looks like you were concealing a weapon after all. Strike three." He said as he shoved me back on to the bed. _

_He was on me before I could even react, strapping my arms above my head to the head board of the bed. _

"_I'm going to need to get rid of this weapon." Kurt chuckled as he ripped my shirt off. _

_I thrashed from side to side, trying to get Kurt off of me, but failing. His hips pressed down on my own, his own erection pushing against mine. We both moaned at the contact that was created there, as his head leaned down, his velvety tongue circling, teasing my right nipple as his hand rubbed the other one. He switched over, teasing the other one with his tongue as well, before grazing it with his teeth. _

_He slid languorously down my frame, exploring the whole while with his hands and mouth, finding areas to tease all the while. I had ceased struggling against him, as he had to have known that I would. My body was quivering as I looked down at him through hooded eyes, as he was eye level with my crotch. I nodded my head, and he unzipped me, sliding my pants down and off my legs. _

"_Sir?" I asked in a small voice._

_He looked up at me with a knowing smile on his face. "Yes?"_

"_You're overdressed. I want to see you. Please, sir."_

_His nose bumped up against my cock, sending sensations throughout my body as he got up. He unbuttoned his own shirt, hanging it carefully on the back of a chair. He took off his belt next, wrapping it in his hand. _

"_Maybe next time." he said, setting the belt on the chair, as he unzipped and stepped out of his uniform pants. _

_He had miles of perfect milky white skin, which was in clear contrast to my tan. He arched an eyebrow at me, daring me to say something as he moved back into position between my legs. _

_His hand began ghosting over my erection as he began to give me an over the boxers hand job. My eyes shut as I tried to block the sensations from overwhelming me. A damp spot was beginning to form on the cotton as he finally pulled them off, freeing my dick from its prison. _

"_Quite a weapon you have here." He said, as he pulled his boxers off as well, revealing the rest of __himself to me._

"_Yours is formidable as well. . . sir." Roughly equivalent to my own 7 inches, it was pale with a deep pink head. I moistened my lips thinking about how it would taste, how it would feel in me. _

_He teasingly stroked it in front of me before he leaned over and began to suck me. Slowly at first, licking up and down my shaft, teasing me by following the veins on the underside while his hand gripped the base. _

_He established a careful, thorough rhythm that slowly pushed me toward the edge. Just as I was about to cum, he pulled off of me._

_He moved up and unbuckled the straps, releasing my hands from the headboard. He massaged them tenderly, making sure that the circulation was restored to them._

_I looked up at him. "Sir?"_

_He smiled down at me. "Turn around and grip the headboard."_

_I complied as he moved to the foot of the bed. He spread my legs slightly, exposing my ass to him. He began to rub around it, before slipping a wet finger inside my hole. The feeling wasn't bad, only different. _

_Another finger soon joined the first one embedded in my ass. There was a little pain, but his other hand soon wrapped around my cock and began to slowly stroke it, creating a heady mix of pain and pleasure for me. His fingers crooked and found that sweet spot in me that made me buck against him._

_I groaned as he added yet another finger, stretching me as he continued to fuck me with his fingers. Any thoughts of resisting had long fled me, leaving me an incoherent mess as the dual sensations emanating from my ass and cock began to overwhelm me._

_Kurt slowly extracted his fingers from my hole, leaving me with an empty feeling there. I groaned at the loss of contact, looking back at him. He was busy sliding a condom over his leaking dick. He winked at me as he began to position himself in front of me. He rubbed some lube on his condom covered cock and slowly eased his way in. _

_He stayed still, letting me adjust to the feeling of his thick cock buried to the hilt inside of me. His hand caressed my cock back into stiffness, while his other hand rubbed my lower back. I pushed back against him as a signal that he could begin fucking me in earnest._

_His hips began to roll, slowly thrusting against me. He began to up the tempo of his thrusts, his dick filling me up. He found that spot that he had previously located with his fingers, making me moan in response. His hands gripped my waist as he continued to thrust into me, passing over that spot with nearly every thrust. I was beginning to feel overwhelmed with pleasure, my leaking cock rubbing up against the sheets creating delicious friction. _

_I couldn't reach my aching cock because I was using my hands to brace myself as Kurt thrust into me. Luckily, he had mercy on me, reaching around to stroke me in tune to his thrusts. A few strokes and I was shooting into his hand and on the sheets as a powerful orgasm ripped through my body. My hands __failed me and I fell forward, my ass still up in the air as Kurt continued his thrusting. _

_A few more thrusts and Kurt came, I could feel the blasts of cum through the condom. He fell forward onto me, kissing the area between my shoulder blades and the back of my neck. "So good, so good." he repeated like a mantra._

My abs were splattered with a liberal dose of my cum as I came down from the fantasy in my mind. I continued stroking myself through the orgasm, milking my cock for all it was worth.

I hopped up from the bed and went to the bathroom, to wash up. I didn't really care to reflect on my thoughts, so I didn't. I thought instead of other things, like whether or not the Office would get renewed for a 9th season, or what basketball team would win March Madness.

I showered quickly, and toweled off, going back to my room to throw on some boxers and sweats before letting sleep claim me.

QuinnPOV Tuesday afternoon

I looked at the roses that the flower delivery person had delivered this morning that were sitting in an unadorned vase on my desk. The cliched, easy gift that many a husband or boyfriend gave many a wife or girlfriend on this day of all days.

I shook my head, clearing the ungenerous thoughts that were clinging to my mind like cobwebs, threatening to distort my thought processes, as I attempted to refocus on the practice round going on in front of me.

The timer slowly cycled down to zero, Sebastian had covered enough of the spread that Bernard Peters and Jeff Lynch had put in the Negative block, as well as extending the Kritik that Stacy Evans had put out new in the affirmative constructive that she had given.

Bernard smiled up at me. "I'd like the rest of our prep time please." I started the timer and let him prepare for his speech. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it and parting it as he twirled his pen in his other hand while looking over his notes. He was the polar opposite of Sebastian Smythe. Shorter, chubby (fat), but undeniably brilliant when he wanted to be. Had a tendency to use the phrase "That's what she said." at any opportunity.

I looked over the pieces of paper spread out in front of me. I had a reasonably good idea of what he was going to go for.

He got up, ponderously, and rolled his shoulders producing a couple of distinct cracks. "mmmm." Bernard said as he made his way to the podium.

"Alright, we'll start with extra t, before moving to the kritik and then the federalism position, before wrapping up with politics. Everyone ready?" He grinned like a shark.

We arranged our papers accordingly, as he launched into his rebuttal.

"Off the top on xtra t, Sebastian makes a couple of key errors on the position. He never sufficiently responds to the argument that Jeff and I are putting forth in the block, namely that Stacy doesn't sever out of the position that their case interpretation extends marriage rights to everyone, not just gay people. Stacy instead gets in a huff and attempts to critique our position. We'll address the kritik in due time. We note that the resolution indicates that the USFG needs to enact a policy to support gay marriage. I grant that they do this through their plan of action, but they also open the door to other forms of marriage as well. This is abusive to us because it unfairly expands our research burden as well as skewing us out of our ground. We have the right to do more than the resolution asks us to do."

He inhaled and exhaled. "Moving on to the K. Stacy tells you that we're dehumanizing gay people by comparing the allowance of gay marriage to bestiality, etc. While it's admirable that Stacy would stoop to the level of comparing Jeff and myself to Senator Rick Santorum, the K is on it's face fundamentally flawed. The first reason you're not voting for this position is that Jeff and I never make any kind of equivocation on this position. What we say is that when you utilize a 9th amendment interpretation to extend marriage rights to gay people, you necessarily do an end run around the states ability to regulate marriage. We'll cover that more on the federalism position below."

Another deep breath. "Now to federalism. Our thesis is that the states have the right to regulate marriage. They issue licenses for instance. This indicates a preexisting interest by the states in regulating marriage, meaning that the 9th amendment should not apply here. Ultimately you ought to prefer a solution that respects the wishes of the inhabitants of each state. Some states will retain the notion that marriage ought to be the exclusive province of a man and a woman. Other states may allow marriage between two women, or two men. We shouldn't impose a top down solution by the federal government that will leave residents of many states unsatisfied."

He shifted on his feet. "That's actually a good transition to politics. We tell you that there are people who would be irritated by the court decision that the affirmative wishes to push through. These people vote, and are likely to punish the government in power. Stacy turns this position by pointing to the growing support of gay marriage across different sectors. Jeff responds to that by having you look to intensity of support. When you look at previous decisions on the scope of this, you see that Roe, for instance, created the Moral Majority. Sebastian responds by pulling through Stacy's analysis and responding with the notion that people who support gay marriage are more likely to support the President. Further, he responds defensively by indicating that there's not much difference between Obama and Romney on the issues. So, Sebastian essentially shoots himself in the foot when he extends Stacy's turn, but then doesn't articulate why we should prefer re electing the President over electing a cyborg from Massachusetts."

The stop watch beeped. "That's time. Do you need prep, Stacy?"

"I'm good." She said as she grabbed her notes and walked up to the podium. She had a steely glint in her eyes that reminded me of myself, back in those days.

"The order is going to be politics, federalism, kritik, and T. Everyone ready?"

We shuffled our papers to reflect the change in order.

"First on politics, Bernard makes an error here when he confesses that "there's not much difference between Obama and Romney." There may not be much, as both are milquetoasts, but there are policy differences between the two of them. I would note that Obama did decide to support repeal of Don't ask, Romney favors the policy, at least for the moment. I would argue that right there is an important policy distinction between the two of them, and an argument for reelecting the President."

"On to federalism. There's no clearly articulated implication of why top down solutions from the federal government are bad, except for the implications on politics, which we've already dealt with. Frankly, I'm well past caring what a bunch of bigots in Nebraska, South Carolina, and Alabama think. I say force it down their throats and make them go to every gay wedding and watch. Maybe then they'll realize that there is no gay agenda, but the notion that they should be allowed to marry the person that they love and have the rights that are accorded to everyone else."

She sighed audibly. "I'm kicking the Kritik. They didn't put anything offensive on it, so there's no reason to vote against us on account of it. On to the Xtra T position. First, they don't ever articulate how their research burden has been expanded. They merely assert that it has. Second, they don't articulate an abuse claim that actually works because Sebastian and I never claim any advantages from the supposed expansion of marriage rights to other people that they postulate occurs from the passage of our plan. In short, the only reason they give you to vote on Topicality are claims of ground. They don't give you a jurisdictional claim, or even a rules claim to go on."

"You can extend case since Bernard and Jeff spend the entirety of their time on their off case positions. To sum up, we turn the politics disadvantage to our favor by pointing out crucial policy differences between President Obama and Governor Romney. Next, the negative team never clearly articulates any impact to federalism that would possibly outweigh the advantages of extending basic equality to GLBT couples. Lastly, there's no offense on their answers to my kritik, and there's no good reason for you to vote on topicality. I urge a vote for the affirmative."

Stacy gathered her papers and sat down with Sebastian. I pinched the bridge of my nose for a moment, looking over the sea of ink across multiple pages of paper.

"If I had to vote I would vote for the neg on T. It's the easiest way out. I think the way the case is structured leaves you susceptible to this line of attack. Your plan of action seems to call for deregulating marriage across the board. So, while you don't claim advantages from allowing non glbt couples to marry, I do ultimately buy their argument that this does skew them out of their ground, namely doing more than the resolution requires of you."

"Though, Bernard, I would caution going so strongly for T. Some judges have a high threshold for voting for it, and you need to articulate a rules based voting issue on the bottom of the position. Stacy also beats you on politics. You need to be more careful in parsing things. You shouldn't make a declarative statement saying that there's no difference between Romney and Obama, because there are fairly substantive differences, depending on who Mitt Romney is talking to."

"Ultimately, though, I think the problem here is execution. Bernard, you need someone to push you. Jeff isn't doing that. Sebastian, you need someone who you can work better with. Stacy isn't that person. So, it seems to me that Bernard and Stacy should be a team, and you and Jeff should be a team. I'll change the registration form for this weekend accordingly."

I got up, packing my things. "Also, I won't be able to be there this weekend. You guys will need a chaperone for the tournament. Stacy, can your parents do it?"

"No, they're out of town this weekend. Dad has a seminar in Kansas City. My brother might be able to, I'll give him a call, and let you know."

I really wanted a cigarette. "Sounds good Stacy. You guys are free to go."

They left the room, discussing their new partnerships. It was an odd decision, going for a change up so close to the national qualifying tournament, but I had a good feeling.

My phone rang. Reaching inside my bag, I fished it out and answered it. "Hello?"

"Ms. Hudson, this is Trent Carlson." Chairman of the Douglas County Republican party.

"Yes, Trent. Good to hear back from you. I assume we're on for the meeting tomorrow?"

"About that. There's another prospective candidate who's asked for a meeting with us as well. Wednesday works for him too, and we decided it's best to have a meeting of the minds, so to speak."

I frowned at the phone. "Who is the other candidate?"

Trent paused. "Mr. Carlson?"

"Quinn, it's Burt Hummel."


End file.
